Eternal Questions
by girl in the glen
Summary: Some Easter musings, questions that may have eternal depths not often explored by our spies.


"You're staring, Illya. What's wrong?"

The blond shifted his attention to the voice on his right. What was Napoleon saying?

"What? Oh, am I? Hmmm… I was just thinking."

Napoleon couldn't help but smile at that. Thinking was a big part of Illya's day.

"And what, if I may ask, are you thinking about? You're staring at those Easter eggs as though they might explode."

Illya considered it, he needed to be tactful in discussing these things.

"I was wondering why the Christian church decided they needed eggs and bunnies added to Easter. We had decorated eggs in my country, but they were … hmmm, how to phrase it? More artful than these, I believe.'

He checked Napoleon's expression before continuing.

"That is to say, the eggs, pysanky are an art form and quite expressive of the religious observance. But these…"

The Russian pointed at the colored eggs in a basket filled with plastic grass. He could admit there was a certain charm to it, but still…

Napoleon figured there was more to this than the eggs. With his partner there was always something else besides the obvious.

"So, what is it really that's bothering you?"

Now it was Illya's turn to smile. His friend knew him too well, it seemed.

"I don't understand why, if what you have is perfect and not in need of any other type of justification, you would add something as frivolous as this. The life and death, and if you believe it, resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth, should be enough. I cannot fathom why the church tolerates this other … nonsense."

Napoleon could see that this was a real and vexing question for his friend. He was never quite certain how Illya felt about these things, about faith and God. The lines were unclear regarding this subject and he rarely ventured into it. But here was his stoic and supposedly unbelieving Soviet partner examining why the church had allowed the gospel to be watered down with … bunnies and eggs. He had to admit it was a question deserving of an answer.

"You know, Illya, Easter bunnies and colored eggs always seemed pretty innocent to me. I guess I just never stopped to look at it from, well … from your perspective. I guess it does look sort of foolish to you."

"It is simply beyond my ability to reason out why something as profound as eternal life should be sublimated by the symbolism that is allowed to dominate the holiday."

Now Napoleon was really curious. Illya talking about eternal life seemed completely at odds with his background and usual avoidance of such things.

"So, just how do you view the idea of eternal life? You're taking this awfully seriously, tovarisch.'

Napoleon was challenging Illya to be more forthcoming about a subject they usually let sit silent.

"I mean, what's it to you if Americans mix their church service with a basket of candy and boiled eggs?"

Illya shrugged his shoulders. It shouldn't matter to him, it's just that he remembered the faith of his grandparents, the expression of their faith, as a serious and reverential thing. This version of it, this flippancy, was something he could not understand.

"I am merely an observer, Napoleon. But, as an observer, it is my opinion that if these people truly cherish the sanctity of Easter and its message of a savior, then their inclusion of such a frivolous thing as a rabbit that lays eggs … well, it is confusing to me."

Napoleon could see how that might be true. Come to think of it, he had to wonder himself now about sitting in church on Easter and hearing the homily about what it meant, the resurrection and dying to self in order to follow Jesus… Wow, he hadn't thought of anything like that in a long time. In his line of business he figured it was better left to someone else.

"I don't have an answer. History contains the clues about why people choose to mix their belief system with the practices of other cultures. It's all part of blending in, perhaps. I don't think it means any less adherence to the meaning of Easter, just another way of expressing it. Does that make sense?"

Illya looked thoughtful for a moment, then grinned at his friend as he groped for an explanation.

"No, but thank you. I will never understand how it can possibly be the same story being told. But, as you pointed out, it doesn't really matter to me. It is merely another curiosity about your customs."

Napoleon thought that perhaps it did matter to his curious Russian friend. More than he wanted to admit.


End file.
